Choirs of the Wandering Story

Life’s been dancing with time lately. My thoughts have been courting memories, dreams and the seconds I am facing. It’s a grand ball, but I lack the insight to see just where these dancers will step next, be it out the door or up the stairs. Perhaps it is that the evolution waltz has caught up with my mind, and now the steps must be hurried.

There’s a story of saviours about to unfold. Facing decay there can be no alternative. The old writers of the half-lie books had it wrong. The messiahs are always here, though caged. They are to be unlocked by compassion, truth and need. An army-choir of peace is waking. Inside and out there is change. There is an evolution which has slept for centuries in the blood of the true spirits. The need is growing greater, and the end stands ready. Union is approaching us, and it will be with the grey apathy or the many colors of compassion-forged truth.

I’ve taken up blue as my standard, and I’ve shrouded my mind with it. In my mourning I have found hope and resolve. I have also found a way to end the fear we are fed by those who live in grey. I’ve assembled a forever-land of compassion, with lakes, cliffs, forests, rivers and all land purified. I will drink in the holy water and I will bathe in the divine droplets until I am clean, until I thirst no more, and until I begin the march to the gates.

The gates will fall beneath the cry of the saviour-choir. They will hold long, but they are less than spider threads when set upon by true voices and forms lit by moonlight.

When they have fallen the healing rains will fall in turn. The dust will gain new life, and new roots will be given tastes of freedom. Then shall we return to the holy waters of the forever-land and fill our veins with all compassion.

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